


An Ever-Fixed Mark

by ThirdGenerationRockette



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Series, Valentine's Day, teenage mcavoys - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 21:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13797090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirdGenerationRockette/pseuds/ThirdGenerationRockette
Summary: 12:34am. Staring at the time is the last thing that aids sleep, she's well aware of that, but she has no idea why she's still awake and it's irritating her, her irritation compounded (unfairly, she knows) by how peacefully Will is sleeping beside her.





	An Ever-Fixed Mark

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Shakespeare's Sonnet 116, just because it seemed to fit.
> 
> Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love   
> Which alters when it alteration finds,  
> Or bends with the remover to remove: O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,  
> That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;   
> It is the star to every wandering bark,  
> Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.  
>  Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks  
> Within his bending sickle's compass come;  
> Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,   
> But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
> If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

12:34am. Staring at the time is the last thing that aids sleep, she's well aware of that, but she has no idea why she's still awake and it's irritating her, her irritation compounded (unfairly, she knows) by how peacefully Will is sleeping beside her. She counts backwards from twenty, she takes deep, calming breaths, and as a last resort she snuggles up against Will, hoping he might wake up and she can at least have company in her insomnia. At 12:46am, she gives up and climbs out of bed, reaching for her robe and throwing one last glance over her shoulder at her sleeping husband before she heads out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her.

Pulling the blanket from the back of the couch, she wraps it around herself and settles back into the cushions, a mug of peppermint tea beside her, and the trashy novel that's her guilty pleasure when she can’t sleep open in her hands. It's terrible, really, full of overblown scenes of complete sentimentality and implausible pairings, but mostly she reads it for the quite ridiculous sex scenes, she won't lie. It's an easy read, one that's strangely intriguing in amongst its cringeworthy descriptions...she's quite sure nobody in real life has ever used the terms "throbbing member", and definitely not "swollen velvet love-stick", but they’re certainly prolifically scattered through these pages.

"Mom?" For a second Thomas's voice sounds just like Will's and it startles her as she looks up, surprised to see him standing at the end of the couch at gone one in the morning.

"Hey, what are you doing up?" She smiles at him, so like his father in just a t-shirt and pyjama pants, just the sight alone of his bare feet making her feel cold, while she's bundled up in her robe and blanket.

"Couldn't sleep," he says with a shrug, moving towards the couch and sitting down next to her when she curls her legs up and nods towards the free space. "You?"

"Same." She closes the book and leans forward to put it down onto the coffee table, watching his eyes widen as he takes in just the kind of reading material she finds amusing in the early hours. "I stayed in bed for a while but I didn't want to wake your dad with my tossing and turning so I thought I may as well get up and see if some tea would help. Something on your mind?"

"Not really," he says, biting his lip and changing his mind almost instantly. "Actually, yeah...I was thinking about tomorrow night, I guess."

"The dance?" She realises suddenly that he's nervous, that her baby boy who acts like growing up is such a breeze for him is nervous about his first real date tomorrow night. Her heart constricts a little and she feels a lump in her throat as she smiles at him. "You're not nervous, are you?"

"A little, yeah." He nods and she reaches out to squeeze his shoulder as he turns to look at her. "I mean, she's real cute, Mom, what if we get to the dance and she wonders what the hell she was thinking saying yes to hanging out with me?"

"Oh, honey. I know I'm your mother so I'm not coming at this from an entirely neutral position, but there's no reason at all that she'd think that," she says, feeling his anxiety, his uncertainty as he frowns at her. "You forget I've met her, I've seen you in a group together and it's obvious she likes you, and why wouldn't she? You're handsome and sweet, you're funny, smart, and you have really _great_ hair."

"I have great _hair_?" He raises his eyebrows, apparently surprised by that addition to her list.

"Don't underestimate the appeal of good hair, Thomas." She smiles at him, managing to resist the urge to reach forward and ruffle the hair in question. "Your dad's hair was a big part of what appealed to me. I mean, there are a million other things I love about him too, obviously, but God, he has hair that was made to have my fingers run through it."

"Right..." He winces and she smiles a little wider at his embarrassment, deciding she may as well cash in on it properly.

"So, while we're both awake and all...I don't want to jump the gun, but I do want to say that you know you can come to me with anything, right? If you're worried, or if you have questions...you're sixteen, Tom, and I may be a hundred and three but I do have some recollection of being a teenager." She stops, wondering if this is the right conversation to be having at all right now. She isn’t expecting her son to rush off and sleep with the first girl he goes on a date with (and she definitely isn't endorsing it), but she also wants him to know she's here for him for anything, so she opts to push on. "The thing is, I know we've had the talk, and I know you're smart and you get it-"

"Mom, I know how babies are made, jeez." He blushes slightly and averts his eyes, biting his lip.

"Honey, I know you get the biology of it..." She sighs, waiting for him to look at her, and carrying on when she realises he isn't going to. "I'm just saying that biology flies right out of the window when there's a hottie standing in front of you, and-"

"God, Mom, don't say hottie." He does look at her now, his eyes wide and two faint spots of pink colouring his cheeks. "So embarrassing."

"I'm your mother, it's my job to inform you and embarrass you in equal measures." She smiles at him and he manages to return it, even if his is a little pained in its delivery. "I'm serious though. I'm certainly not going to hand you a pack of condoms and tell you to have fun, I'm not _completely_ insane, I just want you to realise there's nothing you can't talk to me or your dad about. Okay?"

"You're saying I should come and tell you if I think I might be, like, you know..." He pauses, takes a deep breath, glances down at his hands and back up at her. "If I'm thinking about..."

"Sex, Tom. If you can't even say it, you certainly shouldn't be thinking about having it." Reaching for him, she squeezes his hand and he looks at her, surprised, but saying nothing. "And yes, I might be your mother, and I know your dad and I probably seem beyond ancient to you, but we don't live in a cave, we still have plenty of sex-"

"Mom, please..." He closes his eyes and she wonders if he wishes he'd just stayed in bed with his insomnia tonight. "God, I _know_ that."

"Fine, but I'm just reminding you that you just turned sixteen and tomorrow you have a date with a pretty girl who likes you as much as you clearly like her. It's inevitable at some point, even if not with Madison, you're going to want to have sex." She smiles again as he looks at her. "It's important that you're safe, and responsible, and I just want you to know I'm here and I want you to talk to me about anything. I won't judge you or get mad at you. Okay?"

"Okay, I guess." He shrugs, lets out a breath, relief in his tone. "But I'm not talking to you before I kiss her."

"Fair enough. I think you can probably handle that one on your own." She smiles at him, and her own relief fills her. Some days she can't quite believe she's the mother of two teenage boys, and she doesn't know any other way to parent them other than with total honesty, so she's just glad it seems to be working so far. "Wait, what do you mean, you know your dad and I have sex?"

"Nothing, it doesn't matter," he says quickly, the colour again flooding his cheeks as he looks away. She wonders briefly what he may have heard from down the hall but then shakes it from her head as he goes on. "I just figured you and dad...well, you're still super happy, and I guess that means you're still doing all that stuff."

"Busted," she says with a shrug. She's not going to hide from him the fact his parents have a healthy sex life, that she's as happy with every aspect of her marriage as she was years ago. He should know how lucky he is to have parents who love each other with the same passion they did the day they were married. He's just going to have to conquer his embarrassment, it's as simple as that. "You know what might be good right now?"

"What?" His tone is wary, no doubt wondering what horror she's planning to unleash on him next.

"Hot chocolate, with marshmallows and whipped cream." She grins at him and he returns it. "How does that sound?"

"Pretty good, actually," he says, grinning a little wider as she stands up, her blanket still around her shoulders, and heads for the kitchen, knowing he's right behind her.

They move in tandem around the kitchen, she grabs the milk, he has the pan ready, he reaches up for the mini marshmallows in the top cupboard, reminding her again of how tall he's grown over the last few months, taller than her already but with some way still to go until he catches up with Will. She smiles her thanks as he takes out two mugs and puts them on the counter for her, watching as she fills them with milk and stirs the chocolate thoroughly before piling whipped cream generously on the top.

"Can I ask you something?" he asks, sprinkling the marshmallows on top of both mugs. "Of course." She nods, knowing him well enough to know that despite his outward  
embarrassment he was listening when she said she wants him to feel like he can talk to her. "You can always ask me anything."

"Did you get married because you were pregnant with me?" He picks up a marshmallow and pops it into his mouth, glancing at her as she smiles.

"I think your calculations are a little off," she says, picking up her mug and watching as he does the same. "I wasn't...that's not why we got married. Living room?"

"Sure," he says with a shrug, following her and sitting down next to her on the couch again. "What I took from that is that you _were_ pregnant? I mean, I don't care if that's why you got married, I'm just...curious, I guess."

"Here's the thing... _technically_ I was pregnant when we got married, but about...sixteen hours pregnant, so I didn't have a clue. So no, that's not the reason." She pauses to take a sip from her hot chocolate, looking across at him as he pops another marshmallow into his mouth. "We were due to get married in June but we shifted it forward because your dad was about to go to prison. You know about all this, Tom, about your dad going to prison, and...well, I'm pretty sure your little Page Six search a couple of months ago told you all kinds of things you didn't already know."

She's teasing, just a little, because she knows he feels bad for how he reacted to reading about what happened with Brian, and they've talked, the air was cleared and things have been good since. They've always been close and she's glad they still are, that he trusts her, values her opinion even as he grows into a young man.

"Why were they such assholes?" He frowns and she isn't sure who he's talking about until he clarifies. "Page Six, I mean. Like, I get it's their job to write total crap, but why did they give such a damn about you and Dad?"

"I don't know, I think we were just easy tabloid fodder for a while. Before Page Six, it was TMI, long defunct now, thankfully," she says with a sigh. "And actually, for a while it was mostly just one particular columnist, Nina Howard. I'm not sure who she writes for now, I think she's based in LA these days-"

"Nina?" His frown deepens and she tilts her head, wondering what he's asking. "Was she...I mean, I'm pretty sure I've heard her name mentioned before?"

"Have you? Maybe, I don't know, she's...she and your dad were together for a little while. Long time ago though." She's surprised at the feelings her name stirs up again, so many years on, an unease, a distaste, and oddly her discomfort isn't something she wants her son to sense, although she fears he will anyway. "At this ungodly hour, do you think it would it be too indulgent to have Oreos with our hot chocolate?"

"I think Oreos would be awesome, I think they’re awesome at any hour. Do we have mint?" he asks, and before she can breathe easily at him accepting her change of subject without question, he continues. "I'm never going to turn down Oreos, but I'm not dumb, Mom, I know an attempt at diversion when I hear one. I thought you said I could talk to you about anything, but you obviously don't want to talk about this, so-"

"It's not that, it's just...you know what, you're right, I can't say nothing's off limits and then prove otherwise." She sighs and puts her drink down onto the table before standing up and squeezing his shoulder. "Alright, give me a second, I agree that Oreos would be awesome, and I think we do have mint."

The brief move to the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards for the Oreos, gives her just enough time to remind herself that it's a good thing for him to be asking questions, that he trusts her, he's interested. And if he's mature enough to ask, he's entitled to expect more than her avoidance of the question.

"Success, mint." She smiles and sits back down next to him, opening the pack and holding them out for him to take one before doing the same. "I did say you can ask me anything, and I meant it, so...Nina, I-"

"I get it, Mom," he says, pulling his cookie apart as she watches him. "Dad was with her, they broke up, she was pissed when she found out he was with you. Talking shit about the two of you made her feel better."

"Not exactly..." She bites her Oreo in half, the sweetness of the mint just what she wanted, even though at this time of night it probably isn't the best idea she could have had. "The story you read? She wrote that before she was with your dad. Their...thing, relationship, I guess, came after that, it was-"

"Wait, she wrote that crap about you, and _then_ Dad got with her?" His eyes widen and he forgets entirely about the cookie in his hand. "God, what was he thinking?"

"He was thinking..." She lets out a long sigh, realising that if this is a conversation he needs to have, it probably should be with Will. "Actually, I don't know what he was thinking, but I do know he was hurt, and angry, and that a huge part of that was my fault. I also know it was so, so long ago that it couldn't matter less now, I promise you. Same as all the other stuff you found out, none of it was us hiding stuff from you, it was all just forever ago and totally insignificant now."

He opens his mouth, to reply in haste she thinks, but then seems to take a breath, to stop himself, something he's been doing more and more, measuring his reactions, thinking before he speaks, and it makes her proud. Of course he's still a kid, a teenager with everything that brings with it, but he's growing up and she's impressed every day by how mature he's becoming. Lately he and Will have grown much closer too and that makes her even happier. Will adores both of their sons, he has since the beginning, and he makes it very clear, but he and Thomas are so similar in so many ways that until recently it seemed to lead to clashes far more often than she would have liked.

Thomas had admitted to her one Saturday that he felt that Henry, with his love of all things sporty, would always be Will's favourite, and from the moment she mentioned it to Will, he made it his mission to show Thomas that he was every bit as important to him as his younger brother. He's always played piano, showing an obvious talent from the time they introduced him to it when he was tiny, but now he's learning guitar too, and Will is the one teaching him. She sneaks in sometimes, lurking at the back of the room, watching the concentration on her boy's face as he and Will play.

"I guess we should just be grateful you ended up marrying Dad eventually, right?" There's a faint smile on his face and his tone is soft.

"Absolutely," she says, smiling back at him. "And while I was still just about young enough that you and Henry were a possibility."

"Yeah, that too," he says, shrugging lightly and taking another cookie from the pack.

"How's the guitar coming along?" she asks, wondering if he might see her question as another diversion tactic, which it really isn't, she's genuinely curious.

"Good, yeah. It's hard though, I kind of thought it'd be okay because I play the piano, but, man, it's, like, so different. Dad's a pretty good teacher though," he says, pausing to bite into his cookie, swallowing the mouthful before he goes on.

"Your dad's been playing for a long time," she says, smiling as she thinks about Will on his guitar, his nimble fingers mesmerising her every time. "He used to play for us when you were tiny. If you were restless, sometimes it was the only thing that would settle you down, it was a godsend."

"Dad says I should tell Madison I'm learning guitar, he says it impresses the girls." He grins and she can almost picture Will saying it as she shakes her head, unable to resist grinning back.

"You talked to him about tomorrow?" she asks, remembering her hot chocolate and taking a mouthful before it's too cold to drink entirely. He nods so she goes on, smirking. "What other sterling advice did your father have for wooing the ladies?"

"He said I should tell her she looks pretty, take her coat when we get to the dance, ask about her day. You know, all that stuff," he says, mirroring her and taking a gulp from his mug. "Dad's pretty old school, isn't he?"

"Your dad's a gentleman," she says, smiling as she thinks about how Will always opens doors for her, compliments her, holds her hand. "If that makes him old school then yes, I suppose he is. Those are all good tips though, Tom. Old school worked for me."

"Sure, like, fifty years ago, when old school was just…school." He nods, grinning at her before his hand moves to stifle a yawn. "But yeah, I know."

"Did you know when your dad and I first met, we ate dinner every night together before the show for weeks, and I had no idea he was trying to work up the courage to ask me out?" She leans forward and puts her mug down on the table before looking over at him.

"Yeah, he said every time he tried, he thought about the possibility you might say no and he lost his nerve," he says, shrugging.

"See, you're already one step ahead of your dad, you asked Madison to the dance and she said yes, so you know she wants to go out with you," she says, offering him the cookies and sealing the pack shut when he shakes his head. "Now all you have to do is relax, be yourself and enjoy it. You'll be fine, you're a McAvoy, and apparently charming the ladies is what you guys do."

"Dad never said how he did finally ask you out though." He runs a hand through his hair and blinks slowly, just like his father when he’s sleepy. "Did he just, like, blurt it out?"

"Well, I knew he was attracted to me, even though he probably thought he was hiding it pretty well, but when someone looks at your legs the way your dad looked at mine, it's pretty obvious. Anyway, it was mutual, I was intrigued by him...it was me who forced it, actually." She remembers the night he first kissed her like it was yesterday, pushed up against a wall in the corner of a dark and slightly shabby bar. "We went out for drinks and I just thought 'ah, to hell with it' and told him I thought he should kiss me."

"Really?" He looks surprised and she isn't sure why, other than he had a different idea entirely, based on whatever Will said to him. "And he did, I guess?"

"Yep." She nods and throws the blanket off her shoulders, suddenly warm, whether from the hot chocolate or the memory of Will's first kiss, she isn't sure. "He _really_ did. He stood up, grabbed my hand, dragged me into a corner, and kissed the hell out of me."

"Wow, Mom." His eyes widen, and he looks so like Will suddenly that it makes her giggle, as does the thought of that night almost twenty-five years ago.

"What? You thought one night he walked into my office and said what? 'Excuse me, Miss, would you perhaps like to accompany me on a date?' Because no, that's not quite how it went," she says, wondering if all kids struggle to imagine their parents were ever young and fun, before realising yes, probably. "He wanted to ask me out but didn't have the nerve, while the whole time the thought that he wanted to take me out hadn't crossed my mind, I-"

"Wait..." He cuts in, frowning slightly. "You just said you knew he was attracted to you, so..."

"Exactly." She shrugs and fights a yawn, fails and watches as he follows with one of his own. "I knew that, and I felt the same way, but I didn't think he wanted to date me. I thought he just wanted to sleep with me. Do you know what the moral of that story is?"

"That my parents are nuts?" He watches as she tucks her hair behind her ear and grins at him.

"Maybe a little…but no, the point I was trying to make was that for various reasons, people don't always make their intentions clear," she says, not about to go into the detail of exactly what their lack of communication led to (although thanks to Page Six and its damn online archive, he knows some of it), but wanting him to know that honesty is always the best option where possible. "Just bear that in mind, Tom."

"Alright." He sighs and she hopes she hasn't completely confused the poor kid with her attempts at good advice. "God, it's late. I think I'm going to try and get some sleep."

"I think we both should." She smiles and watches as he stands up, picking up their mugs in one hand and the Oreos in the other, disappearing towards the kitchen. She folds the blanket back over the back of the couch and tucks her book under the magazines on the table just as he walks back in.

"Goodnight, Mom," he says, rolling his eyes when she leans up to kiss his cheek, but his faint smile making it slightly less effective.

"Goodnight." She yawns again and heads for the door, smiling at him when he opens it and waits for her to walk through into the hallway, lowering her voice as they pass Henry's room. "Brush your teeth before you get back into bed, honey, okay?"

He nods, smiling before he turns towards the bathroom, and again she feels a lump in her throat as it hits her how grown up he is, and what good kids they have in him and Henry. Watching as he closes the bathroom door behind him, she shakes herself free of her sentimentality and heads back to bed.

*

Will’s in the kitchen when she walks in, at the stove, stirring what she thinks, hopes, is pancake mix. His t-shirt is creased at the bottom, half tucked into his pyjama pants, half out, and his hair is its usual morning explosion. He doesn’t hear her behind him until she steps from the carpet to the wooden floor and he turns, smiling at her.

“Morning,” he says, pushing the jug aside and reaching for her, pulling her against his chest and leaning down to kiss her, his thumbs on her face, slowly stroking across her cheekbones, his fingers pushing into her hair.

“Mmm, you left me to sleep late,” she says, her fingers grabbing handfuls of his soft t-shirt. “I didn’t even hear you get out of bed.”

“I know, you barely moved a muscle.” He kisses her again and she sighs happily against him. “Happy Valentine’s Day, honey.”

“Aww, I’m your Valentine again? Lucky me.” She can’t help the grin that spreads across her lips as he looks into her eyes. Her Valentine for so many years now, and still he spoils her like it’s their first year together. “Pancakes…do I still get the first plate even if two ravenous teenagers show up?"

“You do…the first plate is kind of special.” He keeps her in his arms but turns slightly so she can see the pan, and she giggles when she does.

“You’re making me heart-shaped pancakes?” She grins up at him and he shrugs but looks pleased with himself. “I swear, you get more sappy with every year.”

“The word you’re looking for is romantic,” he says, returning her grin.

“I like it…” She leans up to kiss him again before sidestepping him to reach for the coffee pot, keeping his hand in hers and squeezing his fingers. “I love you, even if you are a sweet old fool.”

“You love me _because_ I’m a sweet old fool.” He slides his fingers from hers and turns back to the pancakes, turning up the heat under the pan and stirring the mix again.

“You’re not wrong,” she says, pausing to take a mouthful of coffee, leaning against the fridge and watching him quietly for a few seconds before stepping up behind him and rubbing her hand across his back. “So...I got up last night because I couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to wake you. Tom was awake too.”

“Really?” He turns from the stove and frowns. “Everything okay?”

“He’s nervous about going to the Valentine’s dance tonight. Sweet boy.” She shifts so he can carry on with the pancakes and still talk. “It’s a big deal, I think he really likes this girl, and he’d somehow got it into his head that he might not be fun enough, or that she might realise she doesn’t actually like him at all.”

"He’s a good kid, how could she not like him?” He pours the pancake mix into the two heart shaped cutters in the pan and she grins. “Remind me which girl it is?"

"Will, I know they all look the same to you, but she's been here, you _met_ her," she says, unsurprised by the blank look on his face. “She was here for his birthday. Madison."

"Named so she'll never forget where she lives?" He smirks and turns the heat down slightly, watching as the first pancake firms up.

"Funny, but they live on Amsterdam.” Taking another sip of coffee, she breathes in the smell, mingling with the pancakes, the sweetness with the slight hint of bitterness. “Much less catchy."

"Right.” He nods and she knows he doesn’t have a clue which one Madison is. “There were about a hundred kids here for his birthday though, so-"

"There were twelve, Will," she says, shaking her head. " _Twelve_." 

"She's the short blonde?" he asks with a frown.

"Decent shot in the dark, but nope,” she says, putting her mug down on the counter and brushing her hand lightly down his arm. “She's a brunette, tall, really cute, smart-"

"What can I say? We McAvoy men have a type,” he says with a smirk, because he’s right, and she hadn’t really thought about it before but it does seem that Thomas is following in his father’s footsteps in that regard.

"He says you had a little man-to-man chat, and that you felt the need to tell him about how you and I ate dinner in my office for weeks after we first met because you couldn’t quite build up the courage to ask me out." She watches him smile as he flips the first two pancakes in the pan.

"Well, it's true.” He shrugs faintly and reaches for the syrup, sliding it across the counter towards her. “I thought it was good for him to know that even his handsome father had a wobble in confidence once upon a time."

"And I told him I'd assumed you just wanted to sleep with me, rather than actually take me to dinner.” She smiles as he turns to her again, his brows raised. “I thought it was good for him to know that sometimes men aren't very clear in their intentions. I wouldn’t want him giving Madison the idea that all he wants is to get into her pants, inadvertently or not."

"God, I hadn't even thought about...that he might want to...” His raised brows move together as he frowns at her. “Sometimes I forget he’s not a little kid anymore. I mean, he's sixteen now, holy shit-" "Calm down, he's nervous enough about the prospect of kissing her, I think, I don't think we need to worry about much more than that just yet...but yeah, he's sixteen, and I hate to break it to you, but it’s quite probably going to happen sooner or later.” She licks her lips as he lifts the pancakes from the pan onto the plate kept hot beside the stove, pouring in another round of the mix. “Unless we just let him have this one date and lock him in the basement until he's twenty-five."

"We don't have a basement,” he says, thinly veiled panic evident in his tone.

"Shit, then it's a good thing I gave him the talk, isn't it?” Nudging him, she slides her arm around his waist, her fingers dancing under his t-shirt as she leans her head against him. “Hopefully I've embarrassed him so thoroughly that if he even _tries_ to think about sex he'll picture me and the urge will disappear immediately."

"Thank God it doesn't have that effect on me." His hand grasps hers and she turns her head, leaning up and kissing him, first nibbling lightly on his bottom lip and then running her tongue across it.

“God, it’s, like, nine in the morning!” Henry's voice appears from behind them, in the doorway of the kitchen, his disgusted tone making her smile.

"And it's Valentine's Day," Will says, ignoring the roll of his son's eyes, instead turning back to kiss her again before switching his attention back to the pan.

"Pancakes, Dad?" Henry steps closer, his cynicism suddenly forgotten. "Awesome! Oh my God, hearts?"

"Feel free to make your own, buddy, if the hearts offend you," Will glances over at Henry, raising his eyebrows.

"Nah, whatever, the hearts are cool." Henry shrugs and moves to the fridge, grabbing the orange juice and a glass from the cupboard. "I'm starving."

"You're always starving." Squeezing Will's arm, she reaches for the coffee pot and pours herself a large mug.

"I'm starving too, are there pancakes?" Thomas appears in the doorway, bleary eyed, his voice suggesting he isn't quite fully awake yet.

"Dad made heart-shaped pancakes for Valentine's Day," Henry says, grinning over at his brother before sticking his tongue out to impart his disgust.

"Well, as long as they taste like regular ones, I'm totally okay with that." Thomas smiles at her as he moves to grab the orange juice from Henry. "Can I help with anything, Dad?"

"You could grab some plates, thanks Tom, these are almost done." Will says, pointing at the bottle of syrup. "Henry, could you get the syrup and some cutlery?"

"Sure." Henry nods and starts to rifle noisily through the drawer before moving to the table with Thomas to lay everything out.

"Take your coffee and sit down, honey, I'll bring these in." Will adds two more pancakes to the growing pile on the plate next to him, smiling at her.

Smiling back, she leans up to kiss his cheek, her hands squeezing gently at his waist as he stands over the stove. She's vaguely aware of the boys bickering at the table, but it's friendly bickering, she can read their tones all too well after so long, she can tell when an explosion is imminent and that's not what she's hearing here. If there's one thing beyond a doubt that the boys have in common, it's breakfast, and there's nothing they enjoy more than Will's pancakes. She pours a coffee for Will, gives him one more kiss, and heads over to sit with her sons.

*

It's the kind of Saturday she loves; long, leisurely breakfast, lots of coffee, papers spread out across the living room floor. She helps Henry with his homework, the soothing sounds of Thomas's piano practice drifting in from the other room as Will makes them all sandwiches for lunch and reminds Henry he promised his room would be tidy before he left for his sleepover. He gives a faint huff but he knows he can forget about the sleepover unless it's done, so he finishes lunch and disappears to tackle the mountain of crap he somehow manages to accumulate every few days. Thomas goes back to the piano for a while before he falls silent and disappears to his room. For much of the afternoon it's just her and Will, curled up on the couch, her legs across his lap, swapping sections of the paper, a giggle escaping from her at one point when he can't resist running his finger slowly up her foot.

"You know what's funny?" She puts down the style section of the paper and waits for him to turn to her, continuing when he does. "It's only when one of the kids comments on us being old that I realise we're not quite as young as we think we are."

"Speak for yourself, I'm well aware of how fucking ancient I am," he says, squeezing her foot, leaving his hand there, his warmth evident even through her socks.

"Oh, I really was speaking for myself," she says, smirking at him. "I just forget, until I look in the mirror, that I'm not actually as young as I feel."

"Oh, I don't know." He runs his hand up her leg, his fingers tickling behind her knee. "You still feel pretty young to me."

"And you're still the smooth talker you were twenty-five years ago." She pulls his hand from her leg and tangles her fingers with his, stroking her thumb across his knuckles.

"I work hard at it," he says with a grin, his face not looking a day older to her than it did when they met.

"Good, because we have the evening all to ourselves tonight, and it's Valentine's Day, so I expect you to smooth talk the shit out of me," she says, smiling and thinking about their evening.

She doesn't know what his response is about to be (although she suspects it was a positive one), because just as he opens his mouth, Thomas walks in, still in his jeans but holding up two shirts, frowning and letting out a long, dramatic sigh.

"I can't decide which one," he says, moving to stand in front of the couch, close enough that his freshly showered scent wafts under her nose and she has to bite back a smile at how much effort he's going to. "I mean, they're both fine, right?"

"You're wearing black pants?" She looks at the first shirt, then up at her son's face, turning her attention to the second shirt when he nods.

"They're both smart, Tom," Will says, even though she knows which one he's leaning towards. "I think-"

"No offence, Dad, but..." Thomas pauses, a faint grin threatening his lips. "At work, wardrobe dresses you, and at home you just wear whatever Mom tells you to."

“Hey, that's not..." Will stops and shrugs, realising it is true and he has no argument to offer. "Alright, fair point, I'll leave it to your mother."

"They're both good choices, honey," she says, biting her lip as she thinks. "But I think I prefer the blue."

"Yeah, me too." A relieved smile crosses Thomas's face and he nods, seemingly in agreement with her choice. "Thanks, Mom."

Twenty minutes later he appears again, this time he's ready, dressed in the blue shirt, which looks as good on him as she thought it would, blue works as well on him as it does on Will, despite him having more of her colouring. As he smiles shyly in their direction, she figures it must be all about the McAvoy blue eyes. He fiddles with his cuffs, glances at his watch, takes his phone out of his phone, slides it back in again, and she wishes so much she could tell him he has nothing to be nervous about, but she knows how unrealistic that is, that of course he's nervous, if there's anything a teenager is going to be nervous about it's a first date.

"All set, Tom?" Will asks, giving him a casual smile, doing better than she knows she would have had she been the one to speak first.

"Yeah, I'm good, yeah, I should...I don't want to be late, but I don't want to be, like, freakishly early," Thomas says, biting his lip and glancing again at his watch. "Alright, I'm good, I think."

"Are you sure you don't want one of us to take you over there?" She stands up, reaching up to smooth his collar, running her hands across the shoulders so like Will's that it makes her smile.

"Mom, she lives a couple of blocks away, I'm fine," he says, shrugging but not objecting to her need to fuss a little. "And before you ask, I'm okay getting home too, Scott's dad is bringing us back."

"Scott's going tonight?" she asks, looking briefly at Will, who looks less surprised than she is. 

"Yeah." He sighs, shrugging again. "We're cool now, Mom, it's fine. Don't make a biggie of it."

She nods, deciding not to dig any deeper. Scott is the first kid Thomas had a fight with, an actual punch throwing fight that resulted in them being called into school with Scott's parents, Will brooding silently the entire way while she feared the worst. She knows Will was disappointed, because if there's one thing he's always taken great pains to instil firmly in both boys it’s that violence is never the answer. She agrees, of course, but she can't deny she felt a little ripple of pride run through her when it became clear who came off better in the fight. It was a pride that only deepened when they finally got to the bottom of the reason for the altercation; Scott's comments about Will. The principal, along with Scott's parents, had made the boy apologise for starting the fight, and had then asked for an apology from Thomas for finishing it, which he duly did before admitting later that evening he wasn't sorry at all. ("Fuck him, asshole, like he even has a brain and watches the news anyway!") Still, if he accepted a ride home tonight from Scott's dad, it seems that all must be forgiven.

"Alright," she says, smiling at him as he steps back slightly, nodding at him, standing in front of her, so handsome, and looking almost more grown up than she can bear. "Home by midnight, okay?"

"Yeah, I know," he says, a nervous smile on his lips. "I'll be home."

"Have fun, honey." She leans up and kisses his cheek, unable to resist, feeling oddly like she's sending her baby off to war, which she knows is ridiculous, yet it's how she feels. "But not _too_ much fun."

"Don't worry, I'll leave that to you and Dad." He smirks, letting her squeeze his hand quickly before he turns to head for the door.

"See you later, buddy." Will raises a hand in a casual wave, or an affectation of casual perhaps, because she's not sure he's any cooler about all of this than she is.

"Bye." He reaches the door as Henry is barrelling through it, an exchange of "later" drifting between them before Thomas is gone and Henry is heading for the kitchen, as he so often is.

"Billy, our baby's on a date." She pouts slightly, letting him take her hand as he gets to his feet, threading his fingers into hers.

"He'll be fine," he says, calmly, smiling at her, faintly indulgently. "But technically, our _baby_ is in the kitchen, quite possibly making his way through the cookies you bought for him to take with him tonight."

"Shit." She sighs and turns to look over her shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. "Henry!"

The doorbell rings and Henry comes flying out of the kitchen as quickly as he entered it, half a cookie in his hand and the tell tale signs of the other half littered down the front of his t-shirt.

"I'll go!" He shouts as he zips past them, grinning.

"Henry, I'll get the door," she says, managing to catch his arm before he makes it any further. "You go and grab your bag, so Ben and his mum aren't waiting for you forever."

"Oh, right, sure," he says, grinning at her as though he quite simply hadn't thought of doing things that way round, or doing anything besides rifling through the box of cookies. "I'll be right back."

"In about two minutes we're going to be alone." She smiles up at him, biting her lip slightly. "Just you and me, for the whole evening...go and open some wine."

Dropping Will's hand she heads for the hallway, ignoring the noises coming from Henry's room that suggest, despite her numerous urgings today, that he hadn't actually thrown anything at all into an overnight bag. Sighing she opens the door and steps back, smiling at Ben, yet another tall, lanky teenager, and his mother, gesturing for them to come inside.

"Hey, Mrs McAvoy." Ben grins at her and walks into the hall.

"Hi Ben," she says, smiling back at him. He's a sweet kid, a little calmer than Henry, a good influence so far, and she likes his parents too, which probably shouldn't make a huge difference but always does. "He's in his room, go and hurry him along, if you want to."

"Thanks so much for this, Marcia, for tonight." She smiles at Ben's mother who smiles back, apparently unfazed by the evening ahead of her.

"Oh, it's no problem," Marcia answers, wrinkling her nose slightly. "Henry's no trouble, honestly."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," she says, oddly relieved even though she knows Henry is a good kid. "How many kids are at your place tonight?"

"Six." Marcia grins, shrugging slightly. "But hell, you know our house, it's what the basement was made for. I figure as long as they have pizza and a ton of soda, we're good."

"At least let me know what time we should come and pick him up tomorrow?" She hears Henry and Ben coming down the hall, the heavy footed eagerness of teenagers recognisable a mile away.

"We'll bring him home, it's fine, we have to drop Mikey off anyway and you guys are right on our way," Marcia smiles and ruffles Ben's hair as he reaches her. "You guys ready?"

"Yeah." She watches as Henry heaves a huge bag onto his shoulders and starts for the door, apparently so enthusiastic about an evening with his friends he has no intention of saying goodbye.

"Hen?" She waits, raising an eyebrow when he turns back, a sheepish look on his face. "There are cookies in the kitchen to take."

"I totally forgot!" He gives her a wide grin and drops his bag. "Awesome, thanks Mom!"

He disappears down the hallway, coming back in record time, the bag of cookies in his hand, and he waves them at Ben, who grins right back at him, yet another teenage boy easily pleased by food.

"Did a comb even come within touching distance of your hair today, Henry?" She frowns slightly as she notices his messy blonde hair, realising too that he's overdue for a haircut.

"Mom..." He rolls his eyes and she gives up, shaking her head at the knowledge that if he hasn't combed his hair all day he's unlikely to rush to do it now.

"Alright, alright." She takes the cookies from his hand, holding onto them while he heaves his bag back onto his shoulder. "Have fun, boys."

She watches them head out, thanks Marcia again, and closes the door, leaning back against it, savouring the quiet, the complete and total peace, the anticipation of spending an evening with Will without interruption. Sauntering back into the kitchen, she watches him clearing away the dishes, humming quietly to himself, and she spots two large glasses of wine sitting on the counter.

"Silence, Billy, listen to it," she says, walking over to him and picking up one of the glasses, taking a sip and leaning against the counter, watching as he puts the final mug back into the cupboard, smiling at him when he turns to her.

"Oh, I'm listening." He smirks and reaches up into one of the higher cupboards, pulling out a box and pushing it across the counter towards her.

"You went to Sprinkles?" Her eyes widen as she says a silent prayer that there's at least one coconut cupcake in the box, a prayer answered threefold and then some when she's confronted with twelve equally delicious looking cakes.

"Yep," he says, smirking slightly at her, at what she knows is the look of pure delight in her eyes. "I figured we were staying in tonight, so cupcakes after dinner seemed reasonable."

"Completely reasonable. Possibly the most reasonable idea anyone has ever had." She puts her wine down and steps closer to him, gripping his t-shirt in her hand and pulling him to her, kissing him quickly before letting go. "If I didn't already love you, this would do it."

"I have something else too." His smile is sweet, she knows he loves surprising her, showering her with way too many gifts. He always has and it shows no signs of letting up as he slides an envelope from his back pocket and hands it to her.

"What's this?" She frowns, still slightly distracted by the sweet smell of the cupcakes on the counter beside her.

"I believe the usual way people answer that question is to open the envelope," he says, nodding towards it and waiting.

"Will, you got me flowers already, and now cupcakes..." She pauses, thinking about their gift exchange after breakfast this morning. "And shoes, Louboutins so beautiful I almost cried-"

"I noticed that." He leans casually against the counter, always a dead giveaway that he's bought something ridiculously extravagant.

Opening the envelope, it takes her a second to realise what he's done, that he's booked flights for them all to go and see her parents, to spend a week with them for Easter. They've been talking about a visit for a while, her dad isn't in the best of health and her mum, while she's the same Penny McHale she's always been, isn't as young as she used to be. She misses them, it's not easy finding time to see them, and maybe years ago there would have been a tiny niggle of irritation at Will for choosing dates and booking flights without talking to her first, but not now, all she feels now is gratitude.

"Thank you." She puts the envelope down on the counter and steps forward, wrapping her arms around him and leaning against his chest.

"I know you miss them, and I figured it was a good time to go, with school and everything, you know." He runs his hands down her back and she nods into his t-shirt, falling silent, reminded again of how much she loves him and how lucky they are to have each other. "Now, how about we think about dinner so you can get started on those cupcakes?"

They eat dinner, taking their time, relishing the peace at the table, even if it does feel slightly too quiet without the chaos of the boys and their constant chatter. It's chatter she enjoys though, with an element of relief because she hears so much from other parents about how their teenagers barely make eye contact, let alone engage them in conversation. She isn't under any illusions, she can admit the boys have their moments, they're not perfect, and they are teenagers so there are times where door slamming and grunting is the order of the day. Generally though, they're good kids, and she loves to have them around. Tonight though, as oddly quiet as dinner is, when she and Will move to the couch, bringing the box of cupcakes with them, she's happy it's just the two of them.

They start to watch a film and she curls up against him, snuggling into his chest as he puts his arm around her and pulls her closer. About an hour in, she feels her eyes start to drift shut, and she forces herself to drag them open again, determined not to fall asleep at barely nine o'clock on the one evening they have the place to themselves. Her efforts are to no avail though, and the next time she opens her eyes she's greeted with the end credits rolling across the screen.

"Sorry," she mumbles, shifting slightly so she can blink up at him. "I had no intention at all of falling asleep."

"It's fine," he says, smiling at her and moving his hand to her hair, stroking his fingers softly down the back of her head. "I get it, I know I make a good pillow."

"That's true, you do." She smiles back at him and shifts her hand to his thigh, squeezing gently. "Will McAvoy; husband, father, journalist, human pillow."

"I'll take that." He leans down and kisses her, and she feels his hand cupping her head, his soothing fingers tenderly massaging the base of her skull.

When he pulls back, she sighs and leans forward, reaching for the box of cupcakes on the table in front of them, picking out one with coconut frosting, running her finger through it and licking it off. His fingers tighten imperceptibly in her hair and she smiles at him before once again dipping into the frosting, this time offering her finger to him, biting her lip as he sucks the sweetness from it. She breaks off a piece of the sponge and feeds it to him, putting a piece into her mouth, closing her eyes and moaning as the pure pleasure of the sugar hit runs through her. Opening her eyes, she sees his thumb in front of her face, a dollop of frosting tempting her, a temptation she can't resist, but when she moves to lick it from his outstretched hand, he darts it just out of her reach and she feels the frosting land on the tip of her nose.

"Oh, okay, _that's_ what's happening now?" She raises an eyebrow and returns the gesture, smearing a stripe of frosting across his cheek and leaning in quickly to run her tongue firmly over his skin, giggling when he turns and presses her down into the plush cushions of the couch.

"Looks like it." His tongue tickles as he laps at her nose, the frosting slowly disappearing into his mouth, his lips moving to cover hers.

She doesn't know quite how long they're on the couch, him half on top of her, his hand under her shirt, the two of them kissing like hungry teenagers, tasting, touching. She's half tempted to suggest they move to the bedroom, but she's so comfortable and his lips feel so good on hers that instead she loops her hands around the back of his neck and pulls him more tightly against her. He slides his lips across her jawbone, down the side of her neck, his tongue soothing the tiny scrapes his teeth make over her skin.

In the back of her mind she thinks she hears something but she's just too enthralled by Will's touch to give it a thought; his hands moving higher into her shirt as his mouth moves across her collarbone, her hands sliding into his hair, tugging lightly. It's the sound of a throat being loudly, and very deliberately, cleared that snaps her back to the present, and seems to do the same to Will as he pulls back and attempts to scramble as gracefully as possible into a position that doesn't involve pinning her to the couch.

Sitting up, she hastily pulls her shirt down from where Will managed to make good work of pulling it up, and then she tucks her hair behind her ears, knowing it's futile, well aware of how it no doubt looks. Looking up, she comes face to face with Thomas's wide eyes, behind them a trace of a smirk, despite the slight flush in his cheeks, whether from embarrassment of how he just found his parents, or the success of his date she doesn't know.

"Hey, honey," she says, smiling at him, sensing Will attempting to regain control of his hair beside her. "How was it? Did you have fun?"

"I don't...right now I can't quite unsee what I just walked in on," he says, his expression still leaning more towards amusement than real horror.

"It's Valentine's Day, Tom." She shrugs, smirking at him. "Just be thankful you didn't walk in ten minutes from now."

"Oh my God, seriously!" Thomas's face scrunches up and he's definitely moved into horrified territory. "I'm going to bed."

"Wait, was it fun?" She repeats her question and the shy smile that starts to bloom on his face tells her what she wants to know, but she'd still like to hear it from him.

"Yeah, it was, it was good, she's..." He pauses, shrugs, and goes on. "She's really cool, we're maybe going to go get milkshakes after school on Monday, so yeah...it was fun."

"That's great. I'm so glad, Tom." She beams at him, she can't help it. Her boy has not only survived his first date, he enjoyed it _and_ planned what sounds very much like a second.

"Okay...goodnight," he says, taking off his jacket and draping it over his arm, frowning before he turns to leave. "You have...I don't want to even think about...whatever, you have frosting all down your neck, Mom."

"Messy eater, your father." She smirks and knows that's it, that's the line that will send him scuttling from the room, and she calls after him when he does exactly that. "Goodnight, honey, sleep well."

"So..." Will reaches for a piece of cupcake and pops it into his mouth, chewing it quickly before he finishes. "He had a pretty big night. Successful date and then he catches his parents about to get jiggy on the couch."

"Jiggy?" She smirks at him and grabs the piece of cake still sitting in the box, the sweet sponge so, so good. " _Jiggy_?"

"Whatever," he says, with a casual shrug.

"Well, he was quite confident in his assertion when we talked last night that he _knows_ his parents still have sex." Her shrug matches his and she reaches for his hand, sliding her fingers into his.

"Really?" His eyebrows raise and he squeezes her fingers. "I can imagine how he knows that. I'd certainly never suggest my wife is loud..."

"I mean, like, I know you and Dad still do all that stuff, oh my God, ew." She does her best to activate her inner teenager, but it's been a while. She's pretty sure he gets her point regardless.

"Was that a vague attempt at mimicking Tom?" he asks, an amused grin on his face.

"I know it wasn't exactly up there with my Groucho, but I think that was pretty good," she says, smiling as his thumb strokes across hers, soft against her skin.

"This is where I change the subject." Leaning forward, he kisses the end of her nose, moves to her lips, finally dipping his head to her neck, licking the traces of frosting from her skin before pulling back to look at her. "Bed?"

"Mmm." She lets him pull her gently up from the couch and they both grin at the avalanche of cupcake crumbs that hit the floor, to be cleaned up tomorrow. "Valentine's Day sex...yes, please."


End file.
